


there's always someone waiting (with open hands)

by flickingontheclosetlight



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Primary Teacher/Writer, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flickingontheclosetlight/pseuds/flickingontheclosetlight
Summary: "See, this is why I didn’t tell you!”“You make it sound like I have no self-control, Marian,” Anne sighs tiredly over dinner, distractedly pointing across the table, “Pass me the mashed potatoes, will you?”“Sometimes I’m not sure you do!” Marian huffs, continuing to ignore her request, “She’s his teacher, Anne!”-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------CURRENTLY ON HOLD DUE TO WRITER'S BLOCK





	1. Chapter 1

She sticks out like a sore thumb.

Dressed in black head to toe among cartoon backpacks, crayon drawings and gold star stickers, but a favour is a favour. And not that she’d tell Marian but Anne doesn’t mind picking Jeremy up from school half as much as all the heavy sighs and eye-rolling may have suggested.

“Ready to go?” Her imploring gaze finds him over the top of her phone, thumbs hooked into the straps of his backpack as he distractedly rocks on his feet. Jeremy gives her his best enthusiastic nod and it _should_ be convincing but experience has made her weary. It’s the same old game. His mind tends to run away with him, always three paces ahead. It’s better to double check or they’ll have to double back and she’ll never hear the end of it.

“Have you packed your lunchbox?”

“Yeah.”

“Pencil case?”

“Mhm.”

“Water bottle?”

“Yup.” Anne straightens at that, intrigued. They do not usually make it this far without a hitch.

“Mmm... Homework?”

He seems to ponder this for a second. “I think.”

“You _think?_” The slow smirk inching across her features is met with a sheepish expression. With his chin tucked close to his chest, Jeremy sucks on his bottom lip then releases it with an audible _pop_. “Yeah.”

Yeah, no. Putting her phone away, Anne crouches down in front of him and tugs on one of his backpack’s straps, earning her a toothy grin. “Should we check?” She inquires, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes.

Without any further prompting he readily shrugs the backpack off so Anne can hold it up and open for him while he sifts through the contents in earnest. But when his bottom lip juts forward a moment later, she already has her answer. “I forgot.” If he didn’t look so crushed, she’d laugh at the uncanny resemblance his pout bears to his mother’s.

“That’s alright, hm? We’ll fetch it now. Your teacher should still be in.” Relief spreading first over his features and then into his slight frame, Jeremy instantly bounds down the hall and towards his classroom. Anne follows several steps behind. It’s not a lack of trust that motivates her - surely he’s capable of finding his way there and back on his own without getting lost - but he has a tendency to dawdled and she’d rather not be stuck here any longer than necessary. A quick glance at her watch only confirms that their little detour is already making them run late.

Still Anne stops a good three feet from the door, pretending not to eavesdrop as she turns to the paintings hung up on the wall next to it. They’re not the usual run-of-the-mill apple trees and paper kites Mrs Gray tends to force her class through at the start of every term. Instead, she finds herself faced with a decently executed line of watercolour bunnies, starring back at her with their slightly-crazed sharpie eyes. She doesn’t think too much of it at first but reconsiders upon witnessing the conversation happening to her right.

“Miss, may I come in to collect my books?”

“JJ,” a disembodied voice - sounding much too young to belong to the elderly Mrs Gray – replies, evidently smiling, “of course. Come in.”

“I forget sometimes. My mum says these things happen but I ought to pay more attention. Says I won’t get away with it in secondary school. That I ought to start thinking of it now because we still got time.” Her nephew isn’t usually this open towards strangers either and when all he is met with in response is understanding and encouragement, Anne resolves to stray from her initial approach of staying back and steps towards the door.

The woman occupying the cluttered desk at the very front of the classroom is unsurprisingly not Mrs Gray. She can’t be older than thirty at the most, with golden locks spilling past slim shoulders and down her back. A dusting of light freckles accentuates the youthfulness of her features and maps the length of her arms from the slightly puffy sleeves of her floral sundress down. Wedged between slender fingers, she holds a red ink pen, all marking and grading seemingly forgotten as her attention remains focused solely on Jeremy. A gentle smile on permanent display, she appears to be perfectly at ease.

But that all changes abruptly the second Anne clears her throat to make her presence known, addressing the boy as if she only just stepped into the doorway, “Did you find it?”

Two sets of baby blue eyes turn towards her, but while her nephew simply goes back to raiding his designated compartment at the back end of the room with an unbothered “Not yet.”, the young blonde – by all appearances a teacher – springs to her feet.

“Oh, I’m-I’m terribly sorry. I did not see you there. I didn’t mean to be rude,” she apologizes profusely, rushing forward with her hand outstretched towards Anne. She seems like a changed woman, her shoulders holding tension that was nowhere to be found ten seconds ago, the brilliant smile from earlier now demure and tight. “Ann Walker, I’m Mrs Gray’s substitute. Are- are you JJ’s mother?”

Confidently seizing the offered hand between both of her own, Anne gives a swift shake of her head, her voice dipping into a velvety drawl, “No, I am sorry. It was my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t think anyone would be in here.” Imparting a sugary smile on Miss Walker, she nods towards Jeremy, subtly leaning closer as if to share a secret, “Anne Lister, I’m his aunt. His mother was inconvenienced, which is why I am here to pick him up.”

“Oh,” Miss Walker seems to melt a little under her gaze, a shaky breath parting her lips before her tongue darts out to swipe over the very same in a telltale sign of nervousness, “so you-you’re the writer.”

Anne blinks at her, a sole brow flicking upwards. “Pardon?” When Miss Walker’s hand slips from hers, she knows she missed the mark.

Evidently having misinterpreted Anne’s surprise as her being cross with her, she tries to diffuse the situation. “No. No, I didn’t mean... I-It’s just... You must know that he adores you? Your nephew. You’re all he ever talks about. Keeps gushing to his friends about you. He-he said he wants to be a writer when he’s grown up. Just like you.”

“Hm, did he?” Distracted by this newfound information, Anne’s attention strays towards the boy in question. Life as a writer is not as glamorous as it’s made up to be and she’s certain Marian would disapprove of him following in his aunt’s footsteps. But he’s only just a kid and these things are subject to change.

“Yes. He’s good at it too. —I imagine he gets that from you,” Miss Walker adds a little more boldly as Anne’s gaze settles back onto her. Taking her silence as a sort of truce, she continues. “He’s very polite as well. And generous. He’s got to be one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever taught.”

“Mmm,” Anne nods, finally chiming back into the conversation with a good-natured smirk, “he gets that from his mother.”

Miss Walker ducks her head at the wink Anne sends her way to stave off any further misinterpretation, cheeks dusted with a soft blush as she glances back up at her with a delighted little smile.

“_I’m ready to leave_,” Jeremy announces loudly from his position right next to her, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“Well,” Anne breathes apologetically. Locking eyes with the equally startled Miss Walker over the top of the boy’s head, they both break into a laughter. “Guess that means we’re off. —Miss Walker...” clasping both hands around the blonde’s once more, Anne delivers a gentle squeeze, gazing deeply into her eyes, “it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Y-you too,” the blonde assures her with a nod as Jeremy stalks past them.

“Bye!” He calls over his shoulder, books firmly clasped in one hand as he waves at his teacher in parting.

That seems to remind Miss Walker that she has yet to let go of Anne’s hand. Quickly pulling back, she offers him a small wave of her own. “Goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow, JJ,” she calls after him before their eyes meet once more, reluctance evident in the set of her mouth, “Miss Lister.”

“Call me Anne.”

* * *

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you!”

“You make it sound like I have no self-control, Marian,” Anne sighs tiredly over dinner later that night, distractedly pointing across the table, “Pass me the mashed potatoes, will you?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure you do!” Marian huffs, continuing to ignore her request, “She’s his _teacher_, Anne!”

“So?”

“_So? _He’s an impressionable young child. He doesn’t need to be exposed to all of—” struggling to find the right words, she waves her hand at Anne, “_this._”

That stings more than expected.

“Huh,” brows lifting, Anne purses her lips and reaches for the towel to wipe her hands before she pushes her chair backwards. “I see.”

“Oh, come on. You know I didn’t—“

“It’s been a long day. I will retire to my room. Make sure to put the leftovers into the fridge before you head to bed.”

“Anne...”

“_Goodnight_, Marian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a first taste to gauge people's reaction and to see if anyone would be interested in this story. So if you want more, please let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Catherine Rawson doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, so Ann knows not to take it personal but there are only two things she’s ever actually early for. Her job and happy hour.

Coffee with Ann doesn’t fit the criteria for either of those categories and Catherine is verging on _‘terribly late’_. But it’s not her fault that Ann’s been stood outside _Cordingley’s_ in the light drizzle for the past twenty minutes, shoulders pulled up around her neck and the sleeves of her cardigan tugged past her fingertips to keep them dry. For that, she only has herself to blame. After all, it wasn’t a predicament until she made it one. Ann had resolved to go in a good ten minutes ago, but then she didn’t and now it feels like she missed the sweet spot. It’s all rather silly and a train of thought more befitting of a child but the queasy feeling in her stomach won’t allow her to reconsider.

When Catherine finally does arrive, it’s in a flurry of pastels - from her shoes, to her jacket, to the silky loop scarf artistically draped around her neck - with her hair tied up in a fashion similar to Ann’s and the common sense to look at least somewhat apologetic. “You haven’t been stood out here the whole time?” She inquires, leaning in to press a quick kiss to each of Ann’s cheeks as she moves her umbrella to shield them both from the elements. It does a much better job than the small overhead ledge. “You could’ve waited inside. I would’ve found you.”

“Oh, it’s...” Ann flounders to explain herself under the brunette’s watchful gaze, “It’s alright. I-I’ve been stuck indoors all day, I was.. craving a little bit of fresh air anyway.” She cannot tell whether Catherine believes her or not. But if she doesn’t, she decides not to press the matter. Ann considers that a small victory at least.

Once inside, they find a table quickly enough. Catherine takes the chair situated against the wall, which inevitably leaves Ann sitting with her back to the room. It makes her feel slightly uneasy and she’d much rather they switch places but she doesn’t want to alert Catherine to how poorly she’s been feeling lately. Her cousin has been known to report back to their extended family and Ann can’t have them thinking she’s overwhelmed by all of these new responsibilities. Even if there might be some truth to it.

“Ann?”

“Hm?” Her eyes snap up from the marbled tabletop to meet Catherine’s expectant gaze.

“Have you been listening to a word I said?”

She hasn’t. “I..”

“George texted. They’re having a little get-together. It’ll just be him, Sophie, Harriet and some boys from out of town. He wants us to come join them.” Ann doesn’t particularly fancy going. She was looking forward to a nice chat with her best friend and the opportunity to get a head start on her presentation for the parent-teacher assembly she called. It won’t be for another couple of days but public speaking has never been her strong suit and she was hoping that by giving herself ample time to prepare, she would feel less anxious approaching the event. “Alexander will be there too,” Catherine adds as if that’s supposed to convince her somehow.

Shoulders slouching forward, Ann releases a non-committal sigh. “I don’t know...” She does know. They both do. She doesn’t want to go meet Alexander Mackenzie with his stupid preppy haircut and the affinity to spend an entire month’s salary in one night.

“Come on, Ann. You’ve never even properly met him. This isn’t eighteen hundred; you don’t have to marry him because you held his hand. And who knows, maybe you’ll end up liking him.” Ann doubts that very much but doesn’t say so. “I think you could be good for one another. Besides, you haven’t come out with us in ages. Sophie misses you. So does Harriet. It’ll be fun.”

Ann fidgets. If the determined set of Catherine’s jaw tells her anything, it’s that she’ll be agreeing to go before the waiter arrives to take their orders.

She’s not wrong.

“Two cappuccinos,” Catherine grins victoriously when Joseph Booth – permanently struggling to straighten his apron – appears from somewhere behind Ann with a notepad in hand. His brother’s youngest daughter –Martha - is in Catherine’s class, they all share the same kind smile.

“Coming right up.”

She’d prefer tea, Ann thinks stubbornly and when Catherine’s expression sours briefly, she momentarily - foolishly - wonders if her cousin can read minds. But it doesn’t last for more than half a second maybe. She blinks and Catherine is back to her bubbly self, making Ann wonder if she imagined the whole thing to begin with. Perhaps a trick of the light.

“You could borrow one of my dresses, the black one maybe. It would go well with your favourite pair of heels. Or the light blue one with the lace. But you’d need to combine that with a scarf... I think I might bring my new purse. The cream one. Though it can’t fit an umbrella, not even a telescopic one. Do you reckon we should bring one? Maybe I can convince George to carry it.”

Ann hums here and nods there whenever appropriate, letting Catherine work it out on her own like she usually does. She cannot imagine that she’d be of much help anyway. Between the two of them, Catherine is the expert in all things to do with style and fashion and while Ann can clearly hold her own, she’s usually partial to the true and tried jeans, shirt and cardigan combo during the colder days. Perhaps, she optimistically thinks, letting her mind wander, she could slip away early from the party Catherine refuses to call one. She could feign a headache and they’d make assumptions but they’d be none the wiser. It’s no secret that Ann has been suffering from occasional migraines since her early teens. Then again, she doesn’t want to be the girl who cried wolf.

Catherine is still talking when Joseph comes back with their drinks and an additional set of pastries. “Here we go...,” he mumbles mostly to himself as he sets their cups down, somehow managing not to spill anything despite all of the wobbling. The pastries follow next.

“We didn’t order these,” Catherine quickly informs him. They look delicious though, kind of making Ann wish they had.

“Oh no, It’s all already been paid for.”

“Wh—“

“By whom?”

Joseph goes to point behind himself only to be swiftly interrupted by a confident drawl.

“I may have taken the liberty. I hope you don’t mind.” Anne Lister in the flesh and bone. “Miss Rawson. Miss Walker.”

She gives Ann a right fright too, stealing her breath away as she appears seemingly out of nowhere, looking entirely out of place and yet perfectly comfortable in her sleek black ensemble. It takes Ann a moment to remember to close her mouth but there’s nothing to be done about the hummingbird flutter of her pulse or the telltale warmth of a blush creeping up her neck.

“Miss Lister... _Anne_. I—thank you. You-You shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, you really shouldn’t have,” Catherine echoes drily but Anne pays her no mind.

“Mm. It’s nothing.” She dismisses their concerns with a flick of her wrist, then goes to rest the very same hand on the back of Ann’s chair. “Just a small gesture, teaching is such an underrated profession. Don’t you think?” Her dark eyes stay on Ann’s for a beat before she tips her go-to mug their way. “I was just passing and thought you ladies deserved a little sign of gratitude before I moved on.”

“_No_,” Ann bursts forward, panic spiking in her chest. It earns her a twin set of raised brows. “I-I mean.. You should sit with us. These pastries are enormous; we cannot possibly finish them by ourselves.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t. I don’t want to intrude—”

“Y-You wouldn’t be. Please, I insist.” Ann doesn’t know where the sudden onset of courage is coming from but Anne Lister might be the most interesting person she has ever met and she’d really like to get to know her better.

Hesitance trickling into her expression, the older brunette considers her for a moment, rocking back on her feet. “Are you sure?”

“Well, we won’t be here for much longer,” Catherine interjects. “We should be off to meet our friends soon.”

Anne doesn’t appear to be deterred by this. Rather the opposite. “Well, then,” she says, grabbing an unoccupied chair from the other table and placing it next to Ann’s, “I won’t be imposing much, if I sit with you for a moment.”

Watching her, an odd look passes over Catherine’s features. She clears her throat and stands abruptly, excusing herself to the ladies. Ann wonders if she might be expecting her to follow but she can’t quite bring herself to think past the point where her knee is touching Anne’s.

“It’s, um— Catherine’s boyfriend – George - he invited us to this small... -ish get-together,” she begins to explain - to ramble - not wanting to seem woefully uninteresting in the company of her new acquaintance. “George Washington. ...Like the president? But not.” Amusement crinkles the corners of Anne’s eyes and she has never cursed her lack of eloquence in social situations more. “H-He’s Sam Washington’s younger brother, you might know him.”

“Why?” Anne blinks. “Because I’m old?”

“Wha— No. _No_, I wasn’t saying that.” If the ground could open up and swallow her whole, she'd welcome that. “It’s just- He um, he used to work for my parents and I— _Oh Lord_, I didn’t mean to offend you. I-I don’t think you’re old. Not in the least. I’m so sorry if—”

“Oh, dear. Now you’ve gone red,” the pleasantly cool touch of Anne’s hand against her heated skin instantly shuts her up, “I didn’t mean to startle you quite so. I was only joking. —Well,” tongue peeking past her lips to wet them, she inclines her head. “Mostly, anyway. —Forgive me.”

It’s rude to stare. But try as she may, Ann finds her gaze inevitably drawn south to those still slightly parted lips. She knows, she ought to say something – that Anne is waiting for some kind of response – but all words escape her when the other woman’s thumb begins to swipe across the back of her hand from where it has landed. She doesn’t even know if Anne is aware that she’s doing it, but she finds herself utterly distracted by it regardless.

Catherine’s timing remains just this side of terrible.

The legs of her chair scrape against the tiled floor with a grinding shriek as she carelessly drops back into her seat upon her return, promptly bursting the little bubble they seem to have found themselves in. Ann doesn’t remember leaning in but she pulls away so fast, she fears she might’ve just given herself whiplash. And when Anne’s hand slips from hers, she has to actively remind herself not to reach for it, burying her fingers in the thick material of her cardigan instead.

To Ann’s surprise however, the awkwardness never settles.

Catherine - as if embarrassed by her earlier actions - is on her best behaviour and within minutes, Anne is talking rings around her. She has them try the German Apple Strudel and entertains them with tales about her many trips abroad while they sip their coffee and hang on her every word. Catherine doesn’t even bat an eye when Anne’s arm ends up draped over the back of Ann’s chair somewhere between a story about St. Basil’s Cathedral and a retelling of her ‘jaunt’ to the icy fjords of Norway.

It almost feels like no time has passed at all when Catherine points out that they ought to get going.

“Miss Lister, thank you again for the coffee and for the pastries,” she says as she stands to put her jacket on.

Anne waves her off and shrugs good-naturedly, the sleeve of her blazer catching slightly on the back of Ann’s cardigan as she does so. “Oh, it was nothing.”

Neither of them move.

“Ann? Are you coming?” Catherine’s imploring gaze is back on her, brows lifting then furrowing when that doesn’t get her an immediate reaction.

“I...” Ann swallows, her eyes flitting between the two women as her fists clench and unclench around thin air. She doesn’t want to leave. Anne has yet to retract her arm and her posture remains perfectly laid-back as if she doesn’t intend to go anywhere any time soon. As though she wouldn’t mind terribly, if Ann stayed right where she was.

It’s a leap of faith and, Ann prays to God, not a lapse of judgement.

“Can’t you just tell them I changed my mind? I still have so much work to do and— I think I’d rather stay here with Miss Lister for a bit longer then go home and enjoy a nice and quiet evening in.”

Catherine looks between two of them, growing sombre. “If that’s what you want.” Ann can see the wheels turning behind her eyes, but she also knows that Catherine won’t argue with her. Not in front of Anne, who has been nothing but polite company.

In a great feat of courage, she holds her gaze. “I do.”

"Alright."

They say their goodbyes, Catherine hugs her in parting and quietly makes Ann promise that she’ll text her once she gets home.

And then it’s just the two of them.

“I shan’t keep you for much longer,” Anne assures her with a gentle smile once they’ve settled back into their respective chairs.

There’s no need for them to continue sitting this close with the spot across the table now vacant but when Anne’s arm naturally resumes its place behind Ann’s shoulders, she cannot find it in herself to argue.

“Oh, it’s just this presentation - well, it’s not really a presentation – which I have to prepare. It’s for the assembly? You may have heard about it from your sister. It’s so I can introduce myself to all of the parents.” Which seemed like a good idea at the time but constantly has her on edge now that it’s less than a week away.

“Mm. Marian may have mentioned it. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“You think?” Ann asks hopefully, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “It’s usually the type of thing you’d do right at the beginning of the school year. But they weren’t sure how long Mrs Gray would be indisposed for. And I guess they still don’t know when she’ll be back. —_If_ she’ll be back.”

“Yes, of course,” the crooning quality of Anne’s voice sends a shiver down her spine. “If I may – and I mean no disrespect by this – your students seem to be more attached to you already than they ever were of Mrs Gray. I certainly can’t speak for everyone but my nephew, and I’m telling you this in confidence because he surely wouldn’t speak to me for at least a week - or I suppose he would _try_ not to – he was almost... _frightened_ of Mrs Gray at times. Now I do not get involved in these kind of things, my sister doesn’t want me to, but if you were to ask me, she never seemed to like children very much. Now you, on the other hand...”

“Oh, yes,” Ann’s face lights up with a delighted little smile, “I’ve always wanted to become a teacher. Ever since I was little.” She tucks and errand strand of hair behind her ear, thinking back to how the profession has always held a certain allure to her even though she had been home school herself. “I’d like to think that Mrs Gray has simply grown tired of it. And that perhaps this break will do her good. —It’s not easy. When you’re a teacher, it always feels like you’re at war with someone; your students, their parents, the system...” She shakes her head, hands twisting together in her lap. “But I’ve always been rather fond of children. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Do you have children of your own?” The question sounds much more intimate than it has any right to be and suddenly Ann feels way too hot too be wearing so many layers.

“Goodness. No, I’ve never—“ _Been in a relationship_. Ann cuts herself off before she can say anything else. She’s convinced, anything Anne could possibly come up with on her own would be less embarrassing, ranging from ‘I’ve never been intimate with anyone’ to ‘I’ve never wanted children’. And even so, it would still only be an assumption.

“We’ll also be discussing the school trip next month,” it’s a rather clumsy attempt at changing the subject but she has a feeling Anne would’ve been able to see through any attempt, no matter how clever. “At the assembly. Has JJ told you about it?”

Ann holds her breath as she stubbornly looks ahead of herself, acutely aware of the intense gaze resting on her, trying to figure her out. She doesn’t want to explain. Doesn’t want to be seen as less when there’s finally someone in her life who might take her seriously.

What feels like forever only last a mere few seconds but Anne finally – mercifully – takes the bait.

“The trip to York? Yes, he’s been talking about nothing else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement, I was truly blown away by how well received the first chapter of this story was! I honestly didn't think it would be and I appreciate every single one of you who left comments and kudos.
> 
> This chapter took a little longer to write than I would've liked and it didn't turn out quite how I wanted it to. So to everyone who thought I was decent writer, I'm sorry? I hope you'll stick with me as I try to improve my writing and learn from my mistakes.
> 
> I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think! Do you want more? What are your thoughts on switching POV between each chapter? I'm grateful for any feedback at all!


	3. Chapter 3

The default ringtone of her phone cuts through the repetitive chorus of some 80’s pop song, blasting obnoxiously loud through the cabin of the car. Anne is determined to let it go to voicemail like she did the first two times, her thumb hovering over the conveniently placed _end call_ button on the steering wheel but she can sense Jeremy getting restless behind her, dealing distracted little kicks to the back of her seat. Anne is still deliberating her options – none of which include actually answering the phone – when the ringing stops only to pick back up with renewed vigour a second later, persuading her to slam the _accept call_ button instead.<strike></strike>

“Hello, Mary. You’re on speaker. I’m in the car with Jeremy.”

The other end of the lines stays quiet for a moment; Anne imagines Mariana rolling her eyes, possibly considering the merits of calling another time. Her relationship with Jeremy has always been a bit difficult.

“Hello, Jay. How’s school going?” She tries half-heartedly, a poorly concealed sigh carrying through the static of the speakers. This can’t have been the conversation she envisioned.

Today however, Jeremy seems to have decided, is not the day he throws Mariana a bone. Perched atop his red and black booster seat, he continues to ignore her, by all appearances too engrossed in his book to take note of anyone talking to him. He does a convincing job but Anne knows her nephew; he’s gone too still not to be listening in. The bullheadedness, he gets that from her too.

“He’s reading,” she defends, fingers impatiently drumming against the steering wheel. “What did you want that was so urgent it couldn’t wait?”

“Should he be reading in the car? He’ll just get sick and throw up all over your seats. You made _me_ sit on a towel last time it was raining so the leather wouldn’t get stained.”

An indignant little huff from the back proves Anne right; Jeremy is most certainly listening.

“I think we’ll manage. Thank you, Mary. What was it you were calling about again?”

There’s rustling on the other end of the line and something that sounds like a door getting shut before Mariana speaks again. “Charles will be on a business trip three weeks from now.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. It’s utterly clear to both of them what she’s suggesting. Why she’s suggesting it. Jeremy will be away on his school trip, so Marian will be hard-pressed to come up with a valid reason for them not to meet and with Charles out of their hair as well, they’ll have no one to answer to.

Yet Anne finds herself hesitating - if briefly – as she deliberates what she would’ve readily agreed to less than a month ago.

There has always been a certain thrill to having Mariana behind her husband’s back. To knowing it’s her she craves and not the man she married. But that thrill pales in comparison to this new itch that has settled so deep beneath Anne’s skin it might as well have sunken into her bloodstream, pulsing and beating until there isn’t a part of her that doesn’t ache. It’s an itch she’s been explicitly told not to scratch but Marian’s suggestion is what put the idea into her head in the first place. The idea of ocean eyes, honey locks and that sweet, sweet smile.

But surely the novelty of it will wear off sooner rather than later, Anne tells herself.

“Wednesday through Friday,” she tells her ex.

“Good. I’ll text you to finalize the details.” Anne doesn’t have to see her to recognize the smirk weaving through her words and in retrospect she should have know to hang up right away. Mariana always did like to go out with a bang. “I hear Italy is supposed to be _ravishing_ this time of the year,” she practically purrs down the line and Anne all but strangles the steering wheel in order to disconnect the call.

“You’re going to Italy?”

Jeremy doesn’t know the first thing about the true nature of their relationship and she’d prefer to keep it that way. He may be oblivious now but he’s smart and Mariana might be quick to dismiss her concerns but Anne can see the cogs beginning to turn behind his eyes when she says something like that.

“Hm? No one’s going to Italy.” Technically it’s not a lie but Anne’s conscience doesn’t care for the distinction. “What’s that book your reading? Did your mum buy that?”

Easily distracted, Jeremy holds the book up so she may read the cover in the rear-view mirror. _My Father’s Dragon_. “It’s about a dragon and this boy, Elmer Elevator. Miss Walker gave it to me, cause I didn’t forget my homework once this week.”

“Oh. Did she?”

“I got to pick it from this box. It’s used books, because that’s more env-,” he closes his eyes, as if trying to imagine the word spelled out over the back of the lids, “environmentally friendly. She said we’d all get to pick one for our birthday but she let me pick it special. She says I get to borrow one every week if I don’t forget. I hope I get to read them all before the others take them.”

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth Anne chuckles. That woman, bribing kids with books. “Well then. That’s very kind of her, isn’t it?”

Jeremy nods enthusiastically, his nose already buried in the book once more, “Yes, she’s my most favourite teacher.”

* * *

Anne blames coincidence for how frequently Jeremy’s Miss Walker keeps crossing her mind. Quiet and mousy as she is, Anne might’ve never taken note of her at all if it hadn’t been for that first meeting. So she blames coincidence. —And Marian. Being told what she cannot do has always held a particularly strong allure for Anne and Miss Walker just so happens to be particularly receptive to any kind of attention she chooses to bestow on her.

Not that it means anything. It’s only a silly little game.

She doesn’t even know if Ann is into women; isn’t even sure if she knows herself. But shy little Miss Walker wouldn’t be the first woman to recognize her taste for the fairer sex under Anne’s gentle guiding and by God, does she seem eager to be guided. After all it had been her, asking Anne to stay and have coffee with her and her friend Miss Rawson. And it had been her blowing Catherine off so they might spend more time together.

Wouldn’t it have been rude to refuse and hadn’t it been such a delight to watch her? Cheeks aglow with that pretty pink blush, those bashful little glances and how she had trembled under every supposedly unintentional touch—

Jeremy’s hand, firmly clutching her own, abruptly plunges Anne back into reality. It takes her a moment to put the pieces together. They’ve stopped in front of a zebra crossing and he’s looking up at her expectantly.

“Aren’t you-” _a little old to be holding my hand_, she means to ask.

“Mum says I ought to hold your hand when we’re crossing the street so you won’t get run over. She says you never look before you walk. That you expect everyone to stop for you.”

It does sound like something her sister would say and she can’t blame Jeremy for taking his mother’s rant literally. Sometimes Anne thinks Marian would start arguing with herself if she were to be locked in a room all on her own.

“Well, then. Shall we?” She offers, moving to step off the pavement but Jeremy remains firmly rooted to the spot, refusing to budge.

“You need to look. Right, left and right again.”

Anne decides to humour him. Exaggerating her movements, she dutifully checks for any oncoming vehicles before she tries to walk again but Jeremy won’t follow. Confused by his odd behaviour, Anne turns to crouch down in front of her nephew, worry creasing her brows at his troubled frown. He doesn’t usually behave like this.

“What is it? Mm? What’s wrong? You can tell me,” she coaxes gently, brushing his hair to the side.

“—Will there be dead people?”

Her frown deepens. “What? Where?”

His gaze flickers to the building peeking out from behind the willows lining the perimeter. “At the stencil care home.”

“Residential care home,” Anne corrects, distractedly straightening the collar of his jacket. “No, there won’t be any. Why? Who’s told you that?”

“Henry...”

“Henry Hardcastle?” She presses, ducking her head to catch his gaze. It has to be him. They’re always joined at the hip, Jeremy, Henry and Sowden’s girl, Amy.

Jeremy nods, kicking a lone stone onto the street. “He wouldn’t lie to me. He’s my best friend,” he snivels.

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean to lie,” Anne tries to reassure him, lightly nudging his shoulder. “But Henry Hardcastle doesn’t know everything, hm?”

Jeremy doesn’t look convinced.

“I promise you. There will be no dead people.” Rubbing her palm up and down the length of his arm, she sneaks a glance at her watch. “Come on, let’s go see your granddad and grandaunt. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

Jeremy doesn’t mention it again but he keeps holding onto her hand as they track up the winding gravel road that leads to St Matthew’s main garden area. Anne pretends not to notice and once the first familiar face comes into view, it all seems long forgotten.

“_Grandaunt!_” A broad grin lighting up his entire face, Jeremy drops her hand without a second thought and sprints towards Aunt Anne, practically throwing himself into the elder Lister’s open arms.

Anne catches up quickly enough but by the time she does, they’re already talking about the bag of cookies her aunt has waiting for Jeremy back in her room. “We’ll fetch them later,” Anne promises before pointing the boy in the direction of his namesake. “Why don’t you go ahead, say hello to the Captain, hm?”

“You know you shouldn’t encourage this,” Aunt Anne chastises her once Jeremy has scuttled off.

“Well, I’ve read that’s exactly what I’m s’posed to do. Arguing this... idea of his is only going to irritate him. If he is convinced that he was at the Boston Tea Party then that’s what we ought to let him believe.” Rubbing a hand across her jaw, Anne heaves a sigh, sparring her father and nephew a quick glance before she steps forward to hug her aunt. “How are you? How’s your leg?”

“Not worth mentioning,” Aunt Anne allows, throwing a hopeful glance past her niece’s shoulder as she pulls away. “Marian?”

Anne shakes her head, threading her fingers through the older woman’s to give them a comforting squeeze. “She’ll come around, I’m sure. You know how she is. I give it another week at most.”

“Yes, I do. I just thought she might...”

“See reason sooner,” Anne finishes for her, “I know. But this has been hard for her. Give her some time.”

Working as a geriatric nurse herself, Marian hasn’t taken too kindly to their aunt’s idea of moving into St Matthews. She had wanted them to stay at Shibden, arguing that she would be more than capable of taking care of anything that needed taking care of. But their aunt had refused her offer, citing her own set of reasons and Marian has been moping since.

Walking over to her father, Anne presses a kiss to the top of his head in greeting. “Captain, how are the colonies?”

“Decided to drop in for five minutes, did you, eh?” He grunts, peeking at her from behind his spectacles. “You haven’t been around since we moved in.”

_That was last week_, Anne wants to argue but bites her tongue instead. Surely correcting him on this can’t be any more helpful than disproving any of his other notions. “Yes. How are you?”

“I was going to play backgammon with Sam here,” he tells her, jostling his grandson’s arm.

“My name’s Jeremy,” JJ corrects but it only earns him a strange look.

“Yes, what is it?!”

“I told him to put his hearing aids in this morning,” Aunt Anne throws in from her spot on a nearby bench then raises her voice to address the elder Jeremy Lister, “Did you remember to put your hearing aids in, Jeremy?”

If Anne had to take a wild guess, she’d say the answer is no.

They send JJ to fetch the ‘bloody devices’ as well as the folding backgammon board from their apartment on the ground floor. It can easily be accessed through the large patio doors which lead out onto a reasonably sized terrace and into the garden so he won’t have to navigate through the vast unfamiliar corridors lying just beyond the main entrance.

Watching him run off, Anne drops onto the bench beside her aunt. Naturally crossing one ankle over the thigh of the other leg, she smooths out the bottom of her coat and clears her throat. “I met his new teacher. A _Miss Walker_,” she shares conversationally, hoping for a casual chat and possibly some encouragement.

“Ah, yes. Marian’s told me about it.” Her aunt replies without missing a beat and it takes all of Anne’s self-restraint not to gawk.

_That nerve._ Her grip briefly tightens over the worn wood of the backrest, a hint of frustration painting her knuckles white. “I thought you weren’t talking?” Marian doesn’t even know about their encounter at Cordingley’s. As far as she’s concerned Anne met Miss Walker only once and yet she just had to go and snitch on her. And to think that Anne had defended her...

“Oh, you know your sister.” Aunt Anne’s hand laces over her knee, patting comfortingly. “When she has something to say—“

“You mean when she has something to complain about,” the brunette interjects, hands waving about in the air before her, “—I don’t see what so wrong with it. Me being.. friends with her.” Leaning forward to prop her elbows up on her knees, she quiets her voice at Jeremy’s return. Watching him – mouth full of cookies and chocolate smeared across his left cheek - set up the board with her father before she returns to the conversation, eyes permanently trained on a dry patch of grass. “She’s not married. She doesn’t wear a ring.”

Her aunt’s hand stays steady on the small of her back. “Well, does she have a boyfriend? You never know with young people these days. It isn’t uncommon for couples to live together out of wedlock.”

“No...” Anne shakes her head, digging her thumb into the base of her palm. “No,” she tries again but the rest of her reply gets lost somewhere around the lump in her throat.

“How can you be sure? Have you asked her?”

She hasn’t. Why would she? It’s not like she’s planning to propose to her.

“Anne... I don’t want you to get hurt. –Neither does your sister.” There’s no malice to her aunt’s words - she’s always been like a mother to Anne ever since, or even before, her real mother had succumbed to drink – but it still rubs her the wrong way.

“Oh, she’s only worried that I’d mess up Jeremy’s future,” Anne gripes, cursing the wetness gathering at her waterline as she juts her hand forward. “Like I’d do that. Like I’d do anything that would hurt him.”

Sensing her niece’s distress, Aunt Anne moves an arm around her shoulders, reigning her in until Anne is firmly settled into her side. She presses a quiet kiss to the top of her hairline and Anne lets her. Her aunt has always been the one person she has allowed herself to be vulnerable with. They watch as JJ wins the second game of backgammon in a row then quickly intervene when her father throws the board in response, sending the pieces flying everywhere and declaring ‘_humbug’_.

Fifteen minutes later they’re still two checkers and one dice short but decide to abandon their search in favour of a brief stroll in the slowly setting sun. Neither Miss Walker, nor Marian are mentioned again until they have to part ways and then Marian is brought up only when Aunt Anne’s asks JJ to give his mother a kiss from her. JJ finishes _My Father’s Dragon_ halfway through their trip home then spends the rest of the drive marveling at the pretty colours of the changing leaves.

* * *

“And they seemed to be doing alright?” Marian continues to needle her over dinner, flinging specks of sauce Anne’s way as she points her fork.

Anne glares at the stains left on the tablecloth and then at her sister. She knows what Marian wants her to say but the truth is, their aunt and father are doing better than alright. Better than they were doing all holed up at Shibden even. Aunt Anne has already befriended at least half of the residents at St Matthews and their father is benefiting greatly from the company of other like-minded people as well. They seem more lively and adventurous than Anne has seen them in years and there’s no shortage of activities and trips for them to take part in either.

“They’ve settled in quite nicely, yes,” she confirms for the umpteenth time, rearranging the napkin on her lap. It’s all she can do not to clench her hands in frustration.

Marian stabs at her food like a sulking child, “Have they?” she grumbles under her breath.

“Yes, father was particularly animated,” Anne starts, settling her cutlery aside as she levels Marian with a challenging stare, “He taught Jeremy how to cuss properly. It was hilarious.”

She almost feels bad when she spots JJ’s eyes widening comically in her peripheral vision, his cheeks too full to argue. Anne’s lying – obviously - but Marian doesn’t know that. She swallows the bait right along with a forkful of spaghetti and begins to cough when some of it goes down the wrong pipe.

“He did not!”

“Yes, he did.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“How? Was I supposed to predict what he was going to say?” Anne huffs, a vision of nonchalance as she leans back in her chair. “Perhaps if you had been there...”

Recognition instantly flashes through Marian’s eyes, letting her know she overshot. “Yes, certainly. —You know, there’s something I wanted to speak to you about. There’s this meeting at the school tonight. With Jeremy’s teacher.”

The tension between them shifts.

“Which you will be attending. Presumably,” Anne surmises with a disinterested flick of her wrist, signalling her to continue. What does she care who Marian’s going to see? Who she’s going to talk to?

Lips pursed, Marian carefully folds her napkin as though she’s preparing for a storm. “Yes, I’ll be going.”

_‘So?’,_ Anne wants to demand but Jeremy, having finally cleared his plate, beats her to it. “Can I come?”

Marian blinks, bewildered, her plans to rile her sister up in kind now thwarted. “No, love. I’m sorry. It’s for parents only.” Her gaze fleetingly meets Anne’s. “But I was thinking you could spend the evening with your aunt. Watch a nice movie perhaps..?”

It is clear that the question isn’t directed at her nephew at all but Anne stays mum. Fingers laced together and elbows propped up on the table, she watches Marian struggle to explain why he can’t accompany her. And it isn’t until Jeremy begins to get upset, his bottom lip jutting forward in a pout, that she decides to have mercy on her sister.

“Well... It’s so people may get to know Miss Walker,” Anne explains gently, leaning down slightly to meet him at eye level. “You’ve already met Miss Walker, hm? I’ve already met Miss Walker. Now your mother, she hasn’t met her yet, which is why _she_ is going and we’re staying home.”

“Okay,” Jeremy pipes, seemingly content with his aunt’s explanation. He slips from his chair to help load their used plates and cutlery into the dishwasher then belly-flops onto the couch while Anne starts the machine.

_Thank you_, Marian mouths at her before she disappears down the hall to get ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever but maybe the length makes up for it a little bit? As always, I'm eager to hear what you think. What did you like? What didn't you like? Any tips to help me improve? Is there something you'd like to me to incorporate more of into this story? What do you think is going to happen next?
> 
> I also just wanted to let you know that I appreciate every single one of you who has commented, left kudos or even just read this story. Thank you for your support.


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you think?” The stern set of Eliza Priestley’s brows doesn’t bode particularly promising. Never has. But Ann, arms clasped around her middle to keep the nervous fidgeting to a minimum, refuses to prematurely bury her head in the sand. She didn’t just scribble those lesson plans on random pieces of paper within thirty minutes while watching Netflix this morning. No, spread out all over Mrs Priestley’s desk are the results of hours upon hours of diligent work. She spent every last minute of her downtime revising and refining them and _damn it_, Ann is proud of what she accomplished.

“Well...” Eliza’s clipped tone sends dread spiralling through her stomach. There goes her internal pep talk. With just a single word the other woman has Ann feeling like she forgot to study for an important exam. “It’s good...”

“_But_,” Ann urges, rocking forward on her feet until her hips press into the hard edge of the desk. She knows the look her cousin’s wife is giving her. It’s a particular expression, which Ann feels has always been reserved for her specifically. Like she isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed; like she’s some lost soul in need of guidance.

“It’s all rather... _contemporary._” Eliza elaborates, turning her nose up at the word as though it were an expletive.

Ann frowns, opening her mouth to protest but it seems Eliza isn’t done yet.

“It’s admirable how much you care, dear. But you are to be their _teacher_, Ann. Not their friend. All of this... be yourself, embrace your difference prattle. It’s well and good in nursery school but we are here to teach them discipline and proper manners.” Eliza’s hand comes down on the papers, accidentally crinkling one of the pages and making Ann wince. Though she ought not to care, Ann supposes, if they are not to be used. “Most of them will have to accept a subordinate role later on in life and they will struggle if all they are ever taught is how special they are.”

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Ann gives a reluctant nod. There’s no denying that Mrs Priestley has years of experience on her but it still eludes her why she can’t do both. Why she can’t teach her student’s to be respectful and kind while making sure they know their own value.

“Eliza, I really do appreciate your help b—“

“Say no more,” a saccharine smile adorning her lips, Eliza won’t let her get another word in edgewise. She moves to stand beside her, patting Ann’s forearm in a way that might’ve been comforting under different circumstances but merely feels patronizing now, “I shall go through my old lesson plans tonight and pick a select few for you. You may use them until Mrs Gray’s return. You needn’t pressure yourself, dear.”

Because surely everyone knows that Ann Walker bends and cracks under pressure, Ann thinks bitterly, forcing a smile. And it is true, she _has_ faced her fair share of struggles in the past and she is grateful for her relatives’ support but all they ever seem to do nowadays is remind her of her shortcomings until she doesn’t know right from wrong anymore and relies on them to tell her.

She supposes she’s easier to manage that way.

Anne Lister must’ve never faced such problems, Ann muses. Quick witted and self-assured as she is, the perfect example of confidence. She would’ve told Mrs Priestley to stick it. That she was grateful for her advice but didn’t need her help and would figure this out on her own. That she’s a grown woman and a capable teacher.

But Ann doesn’t.

“Yes. Thank you,” she mumbles with a demure tilt of her head, haphazardly cramming the remnants of her hard work back into the folder she so carefully slipped them out of.

Eliza’s smile, merry and oblivious, is still in place when Ann excuses herself to meet up with Catherine in front of the school.

Catherine, who doesn’t waste any time getting to the point of her delay.

“How did it go?” She questions, quickly stepping away from the iron fence in hot pursuit of Ann when the blonde walks right past her, showing no signs of stopping.

“Well enough.”

“What did she say? Did she like them?” Her cousin has never been one to take a hint. Whether for lack of awareness or compliance.

“Drop it, Catherine,” Ann instructs more firmly, only falling into step with her once Catherine loops their arms together. Ann knows she wouldn’t judge her but she can’t talk about this. Not here. Not surrounded by students and parents alike.

In fact, she isn’t so sure she wants to talk about it at all. So she gets Catherine to talk about George instead.

“I think he’s going to propose.”

Catherine’s voice carries such nonchalance that it takes a moment for the words to sink in. But once the cogs do click into place, Ann whips around to face her, her eyes wide as saucers. “What? _Catherine. _Why are you only telling me this now?”

Catherine shrugs and continues to look ahead. “You seemed to have so much on your mind lately. I didn’t want to...” She shakes her head. “It’s only a hunch. I would have told you, had he actually asked me.”

And it all seems well and fine but in spite of her cousin’s readily supplied reassurances, Ann comes away feeling guilty. What a terrible friend she’s been.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, stopping dead in her tracks, her insides roiling, “I’ve been so caught up with work. First with the assembly and-and then new lesson plans... and all the preparations for the school trip. I didn’t—”

“Ann, you don’t need to explain yourself,” Catherine interrupts, pulling her along, “I know how important this is to you. I’m not mad.” Nudging their hips together, she adds, “But if you really want to make it up to me, you can do that by coming out for drinks with us in case he does ask me.”

That’s a deal Ann has no qualms agreeing to. She’s never met a couple more devoted to each other than Catherine and George. So if her best friend is to be married, she’s along for the ride.

“What makes you think he’s going to ask? Has he mentioned anything?”

“Not specifically, no. But we’ve talked about it. Getting married and...” Catherine is teasing her now and fine, Ann brought this onto herself but that does nothing to quell her curiosity.

“And what?”

Catherine lasts all of five seconds before she’s unable to contain her excitement any longer, an infectious smile stretching across her features.

“I think he bought a ring,” she whispers conspiratorially, leaning into Ann’s side with a little too much force, causing them to stumble slightly and break into fits of giggles. “He keeps bringing this small box with him everywhere we go, tucked away in his coat pocket. I don’t think he knows that I know and I haven’t looked inside. I couldn’t do that to him. But every time we’re alone, he seems to get nervous, like he’s waiting for the right moment...”

It does all sound rather suspicious.

Teeth coming down hard on her bottom lip, a high-pitched squeak frees itself from Ann’s throat. “I’m so excited for you,” she declares.

They’ve come a long way, Catherine and George. Ann still remembers how their extended family had tried to scare the younger of the Washington brothers off when they had first started dating, thinking him below their ridiculous standards. She’s glad he never paid them any mind. Out of her cousin’s long line of (ex) boyfriends, he remains her favourite.

“I hope so. You did say you’d be one of my bridesmaids and I’ll have you know, I take promises made over banoffee pie in third grade very seriously,” Catherine grins at her giddily as they cross the street, lifting her chin a little higher.

“Of course,” Ann agrees with all the gravitas she can muster, almost absentmindedly returning the wave directed at her from the front seat of a sensible red hatchback as she thinks back on the deal they had struck when they’d barely been old enough to grasp the concept of matrimony, “I would never break such a promise. You can count on me.”

“Who was that?”

Brows dipping in confusion, Ann blinks at her. “Hm? Who?”

“In that car. You were waving at someone just now,” Catherine clarifies.

“Oh. Marian Lister,” Ann tells her matter-of-factly, oblivious to the curious look her cousin is giving her.

Catherine glances over her shoulder, momentarily gazing after the car then back at the blonde. “As in Anne Lister’s sister?” She speaks slowly, like she means to ask her something entirely different but the words are too scandalous to be spoken out loud.

Ann doesn’t appreciate the tone of her voice. What did Anne ever do to her? “As in Jeremy Lister’s mother.”

“You know,” Catherine starts, suddenly growing sombre, “I didn’t want to say anything last time because it would’ve been rude. But you might want to avoid getting seen with her. —Anne Lister, I mean.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Pulling out of the brunette’s grasp, Ann defensively crosses her arms in front of her chest, tugging her coat tighter around her body in the process.

“People might start to make assumptions...”

“What kind of assumptions?” Deep down, Ann has a pretty good idea of what Catherine is alluding to. She’s not stupid and she hasn’t been living under a rock. Anne Lister is one particular kind of woman, she’s sure, and the mere notion that her cousin would find anything wrong with that rubs her entirely the wrong way. How could she not be offended on Miss Lister’s behalf when said woman has been nothing but kind to her?

“Well, apparently she’s...”, Catherine trails off, lips pressed together into a thin line. She nods her head as if to convey something but when Ann refuses to fill the blank for her or give any sign at all that she understood, she’s forced to finish the thought. “A _lesbian_,” Catherine adds in a whisper, “People say she’s a lesbian.”

Ann scoffs. “_So?_”

“They might assume that you’re...”

Her stomach lurches, the taste of bile covering her tongue. Ann doesn’t like to argue. She has a tendency to shy away from conflict. And when it comes to the most important people in her life, Catherine is second only to Ann’s sister. But those accusations stir an emotion deep within her. Wildly petulant and fiercely protective. She isn’t sure she could keep quite if she tried to.

“Well, let them,” Ann huffs, stopping in her tracks and throwing her hands up in exasperation, “if they have nothing better to do than run their mouths about other people’s private lives.”

Catherine’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

“Seriously, Catherine. You’ve met her. She paid for our coffee and bought us pastries... Miss Lister has been nothing but kind to us. To_ me_. She’s a good person. She’s an excellent writer and great with kids. Her nephew adores her. I... —If someone wants to mention me in the same breath as Anne Lister, I’ll be flattered. You can tell _that_ to your people.”

With just enough wind left in her sails, she walks off without bothering to wait for the brunette’s reply, leaving Catherine to scramble after her. Hidden away in her coat’s pockets Ann’s hands are still trembling when she catches back up with her several paces down the street.

But Catherine isn’t done yet. Her voice gentler, she futilely tries to meet Ann’s gaze.

“I know you think she could be your friend but I’m not sure if being friends with you is quite what she has in mind. Miss Lister has been known to prey on younger women. She’s a womanizer, Ann.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

Catherine’s voice is but a whisper. “So she hasn’t tried to...”

Tried to what? Touch her, kiss her, seduce her? Ann swallows. She isn’t entirely sure she’d mind.

“_No_.” As fleeting of a thought as it is, it drives the colour up her cheeks regardless.

But if Catherine notices, she doesn’t mention it. “Okay,” she says and the topic isn’t broached again but Ann can still feel it hanging in the air between them like a giant pink elephant when she hugs Catherine goodbye on her front door step.

She arrives home a good ten minutes later.

Home is a one-bedroom apartment of approximately seventy square feet on the third floor of an old Victorian building. Some days it’s the perfect sanctuary, others it feels stiflingly empty.

Today is one of those days that has her longing for the company of someone other than her cactus - James. It was Harriet who dubbed him so, after one too many shots of tequila and ever since he had survived the subsequent baptism in the very same stuff, the name had stuck around.

It’s a good memory. One of many. But it doesn’t keep the loneliness from creeping in.

Shutting and locking the door behind herself, Ann goes to plug her phone with its measly fifteen percent of remaining battery life into the wall outlet next to her easel and switches on the telly to combat the silence. She tries not to see the unfinished painting propped up against it, collecting a thin coat of dust. Ann may have succeeded at introducing her class to the joys of watercolour painting within the first week of school but her own brushes have remained untouched for months.

With a cup of tea at her side, she gets to correcting her students homework and today’s dictation exercises right away. And it isn’t until she happens upon her improved-but-still-not-good-enough lesson plans that Ann’s progress stagnates. She tries to push through for another twenty minutes but eventually her anxieties and self-doubts get the better of her. They weasel their way in, unasked and unwanted, until she can’t concentrate on a single thing anymore, the words continuing to blur before her steadily watering eyes.

It’s pathetic.

She’s pathetic. A grown woman crumbling over a little bit of criticism. But it’s not just that, is it?

Pulling her legs up onto the couch Ann curls herself around one of the throw pillows, holding tight and burying her nose into it with a quiet sniffle. Her heartbeat echoes deafeningly loud around her skull. She feels like a failure. A disappointment to her entire extended family. How she loathes it when they’re right, when they tell her she can’t. That she shouldn’t. That it’s too much. She tries not to hear them when they advice her to find a husband who can support the both of them instead. That she’s mislead. That her dreams of becoming a teacher are merely a yearning to have children of her own. That she isn’t cut out for this life. For a career.

There’s no shame in it, they’ll assure her then proceed to shake their heads at her when they think she isn’t looking.

Ann doesn’t know how long her phone has been ringing when the soft crooning of Phil Collins’ voice finally manages to cut through the noise in her head - later she’ll find three missed calls – but she recognizes the ringtone instantly.

Elizabeth.

Dragging herself off the couch, Ann slides down to sit with her back against the wall, still clutching the pillow to her chest like some sort of lifeline. She takes a deep breath to steel herself and then another, hoping her voice won’t betray her when she answers the call.

“Sorry, I just got out of the shower. How are you?” She lies, cringing when the words come out all hoarse and croaky. She doesn’t want to worry Elizabeth.

But her sister knows her too well to be fooled and it doesn’t take long until all her gentle prodding convinces Ann to spill her worries.

“Well what do you think about her assessment? Do you think she’s right?” Elizabeth coaxes patiently.

“I don’t know...”

“No, don’t give me that. You do know. Have they been giving you any trouble? The kids?”

Ann rubs a hand across her wet cheeks and sighs. “No...”

“They listen to you, do they not?”

“Yes.”

“So if this has been working for you, why are you letting her tell you it doesn’t? —Ann, listen to me. You’re doing _just fine_. I’m so proud of you.”

“But Catherine—” Her objections get stuck in her throat, coming out as a choked sob instead.

“_Catherine_ has been a form teacher for two years now. And when she first started, she knew what was coming. She had all summer to prepare herself. You didn’t.” Elizabeth’s assurances make breathing a little easier. “How did your meeting with the parents go?”

“Well, I think?” Letting her head drop back against the wall, Ann worries her bottom lip. “They were all rather nice and supportive. They seemed to be pleased with the curriculum I presented and we even found a volunteer to accompany us on the trip to York. Thomas Sowden — he’s Amy’s older brother. He came to the assembly because their parents couldn’t make it.”

“That’s great. See? You’ve got everything under control. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“That’s what Anne said...” Ann sighs, not realizing that she said it out loud until it’s already too late.

“Anne?”

“She’s erm... a friend.” _Friend_ doesn’t quite cover the peculiar nature of their relationship but it sounds better than ‘a stranger I’ve only properly spoken to twice but can’t seem to get out of my head’. “Her nephew is one of my students. We-we met one day when she came to pick him up.”

“She sounds nice, your friend,” Elizabeth notes, her smile carrying over the line, “You’re gonna have to introduce me to her next time I come to visit.”

Ann grins at the thought then almost drops her phone when it begins to vibrate in her hand with an incoming call.

“Hold on...”, pulling the device away from her ear, she checks the caller ID, “It’s Thomas. I have to...”

“Of course,” Elizabeth concedes, “I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

“Okay. Love you too. Bye,” Ann mumbles back before she disconnects the call to speak to Thomas.

“Thomas, hey,” she greets, feeling more like herself again, “What can I do for you?”

He clears his throat, seeming hesitant. “I was calling about the trip to York, ma’am.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“There’s been an accident. —When I was trying to fix the roof of our shed yesterday, I fell off the ladder and I hurt me arm. Doctor says it’s broken. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come with you after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if Thomas isn't going to York, is anyone?
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always I'd love to hear what you think! Do let me know if you want more.


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